So… I’m not actually late?
His chuckle sounds more like a wheeze. “Make no mistake. We work hard here, but we have fun too.”
Yeah, if your definition of “fun” is giving hapless, type-A twentysomethings a heart attack. Some of the tension seeps out of my shoulders and I roll them. “Oh, that’s, ah… a good one.” I force a laugh.
We stop, and he motions toward a door marked five. “After you.”
“Thank you.” I open the door, and this is definitely the correct room. Ten people are seated around a conference table and they all sit up a little straighter when they spot Glenn Boone behind me. Most of the other summer associates are roughly my age—mid-to late twenties—and all are wearing their professional finest along with expressions of focused anticipation.
Pounding footsteps approach, and a red-faced man wearing a navy suit bursts into the room. Like the rest of us, he must have fallen for Glenn’s joke and probably sprinted up here, judging by the sweat beading on his forehead and the panic oozing from every pore.
“Welcome,” says Glenn, sauntering toward the head of the table. “Have a seat.”
The guy doesn’t need to be told twice. He barrels past me toward the closest empty chair, but veers at the last second and opts for a seat on the far side of the table. Okay then. I cross the distance to the chair he snubbed, which is situated between a man wearing a wrinkled khaki suit and a pinched expression and a primly dressed young woman with an air of unflappable intensity.
I pull the nearby rolling chair away from the table, and okay now I understand why the other guy didn’t sit here. An oversized red shoulder bag is occupying the seat. Clearly, it belongs to the woman on my right. Her silk blouse is the same shade of crimson, and so are her perfectly manicured nails. She flicks her gaze between me and her bag. I clear my throat. With a toss of her sleek strawberry-blond hair, she swivels to face Glenn, who’s easing himself into a seat at the head of the table.
My jaw muscles twitch. She doesn’t move her bag.
It’s a power play. She’s subtly attempting to throw off the competition by forcing the last summer associate to arrive to sit at the head of the table across from a managing partner—awkward at best and an office faux pas at worst. I purse my lips. I forgot how cutthroat summer associates can be, especially when it comes to competing for jobs at top firms. Five minutes into the job, and this Gloria Allred wannabe is already trying to establish herself as the one in control—the one to beat.
Too bad she’s never met me.
I pick up her bag by its stiff leather handles and place it on the floor next to her chair. Despite my quiet, smooth movement, the woman jerks. Turning her head slowly, she stares at me, icy blue eyes full of sparks. Wait, do I know her?
Narrowing my eyes, I study her airbrushed complexion and delicate features. Did we go to law school together? High school? The wash of recognition passes, and I shake my head. No, I don’t think we’ve met before. “Excuse me.” I offer her a tight smile as I pull out the chair and assume the now-empty seat.
“No problem.” Her voice is light and musical, but her lips curl as she pulls her bag onto her lap, snaps it closed, and sets it on the floor on the opposite side of her—away from me. The other summer associates glance furtively our way. One lanky young associate with a crew cut and a thickly starched shirt scratches his nose, covering a smirk.
Yeah, I’ve got your number, Allred.
Pulling a legal pad and pen from my bag, I tuck it under the table and cross my legs just as Glenn Boone begins his welcome speech.
* * *
Early evening sunshine filters through the glass walls of the lobby as I step out of the elevator. “Have a good night,” I call to David, the receptionist. Despite the fact that he was a willing participant in Glenn’s joke earlier, I want to get off on the right foot with everyone here. Best to stay on his good side.
David’s head snaps up and he adjusts his glasses. “Thanks. You too.”
Edging through the doors, I pull out my phone. I already have a text from Brie.
How did your first day go?
Fingers flying across the screen, I respond.
It was… a day
Good or bad?
Mostly good. I met the other summer associates and they were all cool （except one, but whatevs）。
Tomorrow we get our practice group assignments.
So yeah, a good first day, I guess!
Woo-hoo! Let’s celebrate tonight! I’m thinking… takeout & champagne?
YES PLEASE! I’ll pick up some champers on the way home.